The Society for Creative Anachronism
by Karen Elaine DuLay
Summary: The nations of the world have been personified. But, well, even if they're the official nations, there are other nations too... K  for drinking


In the countryside of Pennsylvania, a sea of tents had risen. They weren't nylon or polyester tents either, at least not for the most part. No, these were canvas tents, with medieval-style pennants and banners fluttering in the breeze. Several areas of the encampment were alive with music, laughter, and banter: others were still and quiet, the flashlights and lanterns turned off and the fires put out.

But in one tent amongst the silent areas, a light shone. Despite the entrance being drawn shut, a little light leaked from the bottom of the canvas structure, where the fabric met the ground. Inside, three figures sat silently around a table, candles lighting the room. There was one man and two women: they all wore medieval-style clothing, despite the year being 2010. One of the women had honey-blond hair and light brown eyes, with a delicate face that should have been seen in movies. Her friend, sitting next to her, had darker brown eyes, and rich brown hair that had been chopped boyishly short. Across from them sat the man, with white-blond hair and seafoam-green eyes.

There were footsteps outside the tent, and then the flap of fabric that served as a door was drawn back to allow another man entrance. He glanced around the inside of the tent, taking in the table dominating the room, the two woodframe beds pushed into corners, the chests with elaborate designs carved into them, and held up a modern-day plastic cooler.

"Anyone up for a beer?"

"Oh yes!" The brown-haired woman exclaimed loudly, leaping to her feet. She quickly walked around the table and held a hand out expectantly: with a chuckly, the newcomer opened the cooler and took out a can of beer. He handed it to her, and she had it open within seconds. Downing half the can's contents in thirty seconds, she sighed loudly and returned to her seat, propping her legs up on a nearby chest. "I know this is sudden, but Ealdormere, will you marry me?"

"Not so fast, sister." Ealdormere chuckled. "I don't think our people would like to have us become one Kingdom again, after they 'fought a war' for your right to be a Kingdom." Setting the cooler down beside the table, he took a seat and glanced around. "Middle, I like your décor. Where's your cooler? Has Northshield drank all your beer already?"

"I'm afraid she has." The blond woman gave her friend a smile, and reached for the cooler. Taking out a beer, she continued. "The cooler's inside that box over there, the one with the Celtic knots on it. I had one of my craftsmen make it for me after I got sick of having to replace wooden boxes when they started to rot because of the ice I would put in them."

"That's why you treat the wood first." The first man to be inside the tent scolded gently. "Really, Middle. I'm glad I'm not still your Shire. You always do that. Think things through more!"

"I'm sorry, Calontir." Middle looked down, chastised, in response to the white-haired man's words. "I just forget sometimes. You know how I am."

"Weren't we going to discuss something?" Ealdormere brought the group back to the present while handing Calontir a beer. The man brushed a few strands of escaping black hair back towards its ponytail. "Something a bit more important than Middle's forgetfulness?"

"Oh, you know us." Northshield laughed, going for a second beer. "We just love to tease Mommy. Ain't that right, Middle? I mean, we used to be your Shires. Now that we're full-fledged Kingdoms, we like to remind you of all those little things you do that you really need to work on. Like archery. Your archery's been lacking lately. Isn't half of what we do supposed to be fighting? Get your act together, woman!"

"We can't all be bloodthirsty hooligans like you, Northshield!" Middle cried in defense. "I myself prefer to focus on crafts. And don't say that your singing counts as a craft, because it doesn't. Neither does music."

"Awww." Northshield fake-pouted, unable to hide a grin. "Well, we should probably do what Ealdormere said. I take it none of the others will be joining us tonight? It's just the middle-continent Kingdoms?"

"Those I asked said it was none of our business, what we plan to discuss." Ealdormere sighed, taking a drink of his beer. "If we want to speak to the real countries, we have to do it on our own."

"Do they even know about us?" Calontir snorted, crushing his empty beer can with a fist. "We're technically not real countries. The Society for Creative Anachronism isn't even politically involved. It's a wonder we even have personifications for our Kingdoms."

"Hey, all I know is, we exist." Northshield shrugged, and offered her fellow nation another can. "So why not get involved with the real nations? And who knows, maybe we can do stuff they can't?"

"What, have you been talking with Castel Rouge again?" Calontir groaned. "Here's news for you, North: He. Is. Insane. Remember that time he convinced you to blow up a paper-mache cow? Do you remember that?"

"Hey, that was funny!" Northshield protested. "My King and Queen loved it. Plus, you didn't stick around for the feast afterwards. Remember those guys who went running off towards the cow? They came back in the middle of the feast with its little paper-mache head on a pike! One of them even took some of the skin and made a vest!"

"Can we get to the matter at hand, please?" Middle interjected before Calontir could begin arguing again. "Really, you two. Just give a simple answer, will you come to the next world meeting or no? We'll introduce ourselves and our purpose to the nations, and let them know that if they ever need any help, we'll be there."

"Fine." Calontir grumbled. Ealdormere nodded, and Northshield held up her third can of beer and shouted that she would fight through all the armies of the East Kingdom to be there. The four SCA nations continued to drink for a few hours until Calontir and Northshield passed out. Ealdormere sighed and slung his fellow Kingdom over his shoulder, then headed off to his tent with a polite farewell to Middle Kingdom, who managed to get Northshield out of her heavy coitre-di and into a sleeping gown before putting the younger Kingdom to bed.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so, for those of you who don't know, there's an incredibly amazing organization called the Society for Creative Anachronism. Its members dress in medieval clothing and do medieval things, anything from fighting to illuminating (making pretty papers) to smithing. There are divisions of the SCA that are called Kingdoms and, well...I couldn't resist. Review if you liked it, and tell me if you think I should make a full-fledged fic about the SCA Kingdoms and the Hetalia nations!**

**Oh, and disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, nor do I own the SCA. I just own the original characters of the nations, and then only barely.**


End file.
